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Long live redheads Date published: 3/28/2008 By Edie Gross AS I RECALL, my Angel of He sidled up to my mother and me--both redheads--while we "You know you guys are a dying breed, right?" he said before shuffling off to the Self Help for Antisocial Disorders section. It was the first we'd heard of it, but apparently the demise of the redheaded population--just 2 percent of the world--is predicted with some regularity. The latest news reports claim we'll die out by the end of the century--no doubt with the few remaining survivors doomed to haunt the bogs of Louisiana, the ivory-billed woodpecker of the freckle-faced world. A lesser species might be worried. But we redheads have weathered worse. In ancient times, Egyptians would bury redheaded men alive as offerings to the gods--perhaps to the deities in charge of SPF 80 sunblock? In the Middle Ages, we were burned at the stake for suspected witchcraft. Though if you think about it, wouldn't a real witch simply conjure up a cauldron of Nice & Easy and turn herself into a God-fearing brunette? We've been depicted as every villain from Judas and Satan to Scut Farkus, the bully in "A Christmas Story." And we've endured all manner of name-calling: Carrot Top. Big Red. Strawberry Shortcake. I'd rather be dead than red in the head. And you wonder why our tempers are short. THE MUTANT GENE In seventh grade, I sported an impossibly big crimson bouffant. It was the '80s after all. The first time I walked into the cafeteria at Southwood Junior High, a ninth-grader with big ears and horse teeth spotted me and bellowed "FIIIIIIRRRRREBAAAAAALLLLL" repeatedly until my face flamed as red as my hair. This became a daily, soul-crushing occurrence until my nemesis matriculated to high school, where I fervently prayed that well-built seniors incarcerated him daily in his own locker. I desperately wanted to be a blonde. My eyebrows were blond. So were my eyelashes. I couldn't understand why the hair on the top of my head couldn't be. It wasn't until ninth-grade biology that I discovered the problem: Red hair is caused by a recessive gene, one that isn't working quite right.
Read more stories about Fredericksburg Date published: 3/28/2008
While I do not have red hair, I have been a lover of redheads for as long as I can remember. Throw in an Irish accent and I am sure to melt. If your female with red hair and don't feel that you are getting the love you want... EMAIL ME>
the kids had a saying "I'd rather be dead than red on the head" and for the most part I agree when they were kids but when those girls got older red = hot !! Maybe time really does work magic, girls keep those flames going.
Im a red head my daughter is and my 18 month old grand daughter is too * my parents brunette* my brother is red head,People used to asks us were we adopted LOL my fav saying they called me was fire truck,It stopd once guys discovered me, my daughter never got called any thing threw school. I guess people got used to red heads by then, one good thing you can pick me out in a crowd, I love my red hair im 48 and not a single gray hair in my head ( we just fad don't go gray like others) oh an my hubbie loves it
When I was a little girl I hated my red hair. I was different from everyone else, and as a kid that's the last thing you want -- to be different. Older ladies were always coming up to tell me how beautiful my hair was. Then one day, after hearing me complain, a lady told me "When you grow up you'll be glad you have it. Men will find it very attractive". Well, she was right. It made me unique and unusual, it got me a second look from men. Now, I love it and will never change it!
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